


"stay golden, ponyboy"

by yoonbot (iverins)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Enemies to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-09-27 02:43:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17153798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iverins/pseuds/yoonbot
Summary: "Jaehyun," he starts. This isn't exactly the way he thought their conversation was going to go at three in the morning. "Do you think I'm incapable of love?"Jaehyun gives him a look. "Hyung, you friend-zoned me after you found out my GPA was less than a 3.5."(Or: Five times Yuta challenged Doyoung, and the one time Doyoung let him win.)





	"stay golden, ponyboy"

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rainingover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainingover/gifts).



> dearest recipient,
> 
> i truly loved all your prompts and wanted to give you a more well-built and immersive au... i do hope that even despite all its flaws, this fic will make you smile and make your holidays a little brighter! ♡♡♡
> 
> a big thank you to the mods for organizing this exchange and putting up with my tardiness ♡

Even if Doyoung was the last man on Earth, dying for human contact and a working hot water dispenser for instant ramen, he'd rather abandon all his anthropological needs instead of having to have Yuta Nakamoto bear the apocalypse right there beside him.

"Well," Jaehyun says, slightly taken aback at the conviction of his answer. "That's kinda harsh."

Doyoung slams his water bottle onto the table between them. "That's what you'd think until he challenges you to badminton," he presses the ice pack back against his right eye, "And then proceeds to hit you in the face with the birdie. _Accidentally._ " He mimics Yuta's voice. It's a pretty damn good impression, if Doyoung has to say himself. Jaehyun looks unconvinced in the face of an Oscar-worthy performance. "You tell _me_ if I'm being harsh when I look like a one-eyed raccoon tomorrow."

Johnny sighs, wiping down the front counter of the cafe. It's the third time he's heard this story in the past hour and his third year of hearing Doyoung complain about Yuta. "When do you think you'll stop your stupid dick-measuring competition, finally grow a pair, and ask him out?"

Doyoung blinks. And then he narrows his eyes. "You're insinuating," he starts, hand without the ice pack in it circling the water bottle in a choke-hold. "That I copulate. With a..." He searches for the right word. " _Leviathan?_ "

"Yes," Johnny replies. "Exactly that." God, he can't wait for his shift to be over.

 

 

 

 

There are some universal laws that can't be bent. Gravity, for one. Cause and effect. Doyoung's deep-seated hatred for Yuta. The list goes on.

Before his gay awakening and first college party, and before Doyoung had gotten smacked in the eye by Yuta's badminton serve and was sent to their university’s medical center for it, Yuta was defending last chair in their high school band's flute section, standing up with his hand raised when their director asked if anyone wanted to attempt Doyoung's solo. Doyoung had snorted into his lap.

Being in band was already low in the social standing spectrum of things. Being in band and challenging the first flute when you squeaked more notes than not was the equivalent of allowing what little respect you'd built up among your equally-unpopular peers shrivel after being left out in the sun for too long and ending up embedded into the blacktop like an old, dried-up piece of chewing gum. Not like Yuta could chew any gum. He’d just gotten braces the month before and was still in the process of adjusting to his new embouchure.

And before that moment – the two of them standing before the rest of their class with their flutes – Doyoung honestly hadn't thought much of Yuta at all. His knowledge of him could be condensed onto one hand, fingers ticking off each fact: a grade above him. Last chair. See the braces story. He talked way more than he played his flute in class, and Doyoung, initially annoyed at hearing conversations from across the room as he was trying to make notes on his music sheets, unfortunately realized he could tell Yuta's voice apart from the rest of his faceless classmates' from the sheer amount of time he spent blabbering. And Yuta, for some reason, was friends with Taeyong Lee, and Taeyong Lee had hated Doyoung's guts since third grade.

That, in itself, should've been a sure sign that Doyoung's perfectly polite _good luck_ would be wholly rejected with a, “Suck this, first chair.”

If Yuta were some overpowered hero from some anime, then he would've raised the flute to his lips and played the best solo of his life, rightfully winning the challenge to Doyoung's cocky antagonist. But he wasn't, and Doyoung was actually a decent enough high school first chair to warrant some self-centeredness, so Yuta _sucked it_ instead. Legend has it that the band kids still talk about how he'd only cleanly hit two notes to this day.

Oddly enough, you really can't suck anything about a flute other than skill level. Doyoung likes to tell this joke if he's stuck around long enough after giving a blow job, and he's only received one pity laughter out of ten.

"And so you've hated him ever since?" Sorn asks, sipping her coffee after Doyoung's finished telling the story. Sans the part about the blow jobs. Sorn was too innocent for that, even if she'd unflinchingly reached into the cat they'd been dissecting and pulled out its heart. "It's been," she taps her chin, counting, "Four years, Doyoung."

Doyoung's forehead creases in thought. There's a saying about things like this. "Distance makes the heart..." he starts. _Ah,_ that's it. " _Hate_ more."

She laughs, shaking her head. Sorn was also, by some unfortunate stroke of luck, Yuta's twin in the pre-med club they'd both joined during freshman year. And out of the goodness and naivete of her heart, she hadn't shunned Yuta out of her social life yet, though Doyoung's been set on defaming Yuta in her eyes ever since they became lab partners this semester. "You two are such little kids," she tells him, looking amused. She turns back to their report. "How'd you guys even become friends, anyway?"

"We're not," Doyoung insists. He thinks back to a week ago, when he'd dragged himself up the stairs to his apartment and opened the door to see Yuta sprawled over his and Johnny's couch –

"Hey," Yuta had smiled, sitting up and smoothing down where his t-shirt had ridden up, exposing a slice of his stomach that Doyoung hadn't been staring at. "You're in Immuno too, right?" And before Doyoung could nod, or wonder how Yuta Nakamoto had gotten toned over the past few years when Doyoung still hadn't learned how to bench press because had those been _abs?_ : "Can I borrow your notes from Thursday?"

Doyoung stiffened and tried to look preoccupied with reorganizing his two pairs of Vans on the shoe rack. "No," he replied, terse. "It's not like I've been sitting on the other side of Sicheng for the past six weeks, having to tell people that 'this seat is already reserved, sorry' because he's too nice to say no, just for you to come late every time or _not show up at all._ "

Yuta paused. He and Johnny really needed to rethink the whole _hey-friends-our-spare-apartment-key-is-under-the-mat!_ kind of thing if it meant that Yuta, Johnny's friend through Taeyong, who's dick Johnny was now sucking according to Jaehyun, was going to show up unannounced in Doyoung's private living space. "Okay," he said, grinning apologetically. "I _know_ you're in Immuno too. Can I borrow your notes from Thursday?" Yuta clasped his hands together and used what Doyoung assumed was supposed to be his best impression of a hurt puppy. Doyoung thought he looked more like a sloth.

Doyoung dismantled the laces on a shoe before starting to thread them back through. " _Please,_ " Yuta added belatedly. "Pretty please?"

"Fine," Doyoung grumbled to get Yuta to shut up more than anything else. He dug through his backpack for his notes. "But you better be on time next Tuesday to give them back."

Yuta threw his arms around him and Doyoung suffered from having such a nicely-muscled chest pressed against his back. "Thank you, Dons!" He'd shown up late on Tuesday, anyway.

– So: " _Definitely_ not," Doyoung repeats. Unlike Johnny, who fell for a Febreeze-scented spawn of Satan, Doyoung still had some sense of self-preservation.

Sorn raises an eyebrow. "Alright," she agrees a little too easily. The glance she shoots Doyoung with her pretty eyes tells him she doesn't believe him one bit.

 

 

 

 

"Tell me," Jaehyun starts slowly, like he's afraid that Doyoung, in his sleep-deprived and hyped-up-on-caffeine state, will pounce on him like an animal and tear him to shreds if he says the wrong thing. "Why do you hate Yuta so much again?"

Doyoung looks up from where he'd pressed his face against his keyboard. There's a long series of t's covering the length of the spreadsheet. "What's there to tell?" he frowns as he presses delete. He clicks back to the already color-coordinated and well-organized tab that he'd been working on.

Jaehyun blinks. "You've been cursing him under your breath for the last two hours," he points out. "It's ruining my study playlist of rain sounds."

Doyoung sighs, sitting back up and sorting through Yuta's tab of the spreadsheet. They'd both signed up to be activity coordinators-in-training for their pre-med club this semester, Doyoung at the urging of his mentor, Taeil, and the résumé benefits, and Yuta for God-knows-why when he was completely ineligible to apply for a board position as a senior. And whereas Yuta's research on winter party decorations wasn't bad, his Excel skills were positively horrible. It was going to take a good ninety minutes to make Yuta's tab anything worth presenting to their club president and Doyoung was down to his last hour of the 5-hour energy he'd taken at eleven. "Look," he begins sagely. He folds his hands to prop up his chin. "Do you believe in needing reasons to like someone?"

Jaehyun regards him carefully. After a good moment of consideration, he shakes his head.

"Then you don't need reasons to hate someone, either," Doyoung says, clenching his teeth. God, Yuta didn't even use formulas. How was Doyoung supposed to know he didn't pull these calculations out of his ass? "You know, by the logic of conditional statements."

"But loving someone is completely different." Jaehyun raises his eyebrows. "It's like...you have reasons to like that person, but there's so many that you can't really say 'em all." Doyoung watches as he purses his lips in thought. "But hating means you've got to have a grudge. About _something_."

Doyoung narrows his eyes. "Jaehyun," he starts. This isn't exactly the way he thought their conversation was going to go at three in the morning. "Do you think I'm incapable of love?"

Jaehyun gives him a look. "Hyung, you friend-zoned me after you found out my GPA was less than a 3.5."

"Well," Doyoung says. " _That's_ different." And it really was – Jaehyun had been pulling a 3.42 as a _Business_ major, while Yuta turned in his activity coordinator application one minute before the deadline and proceeded to tell Doyoung, "May the best party planner win," before walking out after their first meeting with a bright smile. Yuta was a threat. And sophomore year Doyoung had just been horny while Jaehyun had been conveniently hot.

Yuta was also the most annoying person Doyoung's ever met, and Doyoung was roommates with Ten Leechaiyapornkul during his freshman year. "Hey," Yuta had said the first time they'd met again in college when Doyoung was halfway through his second semester, and Johnny, who became his roommate after Doyoung requested a room change, was introducing him to Taeyong's friends ("Nice to see you again, Kim," is all Taeyong said when they'd been reintroduced, as if they hadn't spent Saturdays carpooling to Korean school together in his mom's car. Doyoung had come back to his dorm room earlier than usual one night and found Taeyong grinding against Johnny, who was pressed up on his closet. Maybe changing roommates hadn't been the best idea). "I'm Yuta, and you are?"

Doyoung scoffed at Yuta's outstretched hand before slapping it away. Even though Yuta hadn't stolen his flute solo from him, Doyoung nursed his broken pride at the thought that anyone would dare challenge him for months. Especially someone who'd been last chair. "You know _exactly_ who I am, Yuta Nakamoto," he'd snapped, pointing an accusing finger before stomping off.

Doyoung had also been sufficiently drunk at that point. And Yuta's been bothering him every chance he gets ever since.

Johnny's theory is: "You want to fuck him," he shrugs as he stuffs a handful of Cheetos into his mouth. "Or have him fuck you. And this competition you guys always have is just one big horny metaphor for it."

Doyoung chokes on his soy milk. "No," he sputters out before taking another sip and pretending his throat isn't constricting. Honestly, Doyoung's pretty sure that Yuta only keeps challenging him to show off how big his dick is and Doyoung – who's realized his own Achilles heel is his overly-prideful, alpha male need to win – gets siren-called into it every time. "You're wrong," he continues instead of explaining the idea to Johnny, who would just use Doyoung's mention of Yuta's dick to prove his point.

Taeyong, who's sitting half-on the couch and half-over Johnny's lap, looks surprisingly unmiffed about his boyfriend licking Cheeto dust off his fingers when he still hasn't forgiven Doyoung for sticking a booger under their shared desk in third grade and had given him the "look, I know our moms hang out all the time but I think we'd be better off not being friends" talk in the aftermath. "Just don't have sex on my bed," is his only input into the whole conversation.

Yuta's smiling the next day when they're at the activities committee meeting and Doyoung's teaching him how to flash fill in Excel. Unfortunately, the braces back in high school had really worked for him, and Doyoung can't stop staring at his very even and blinding teeth. God, he hates those teeth.

"Doyoung," Yuta repeats. Doyoung flinches back to attention.

"What?" he grumbles. He turns back to his own laptop screen, which is on sleep mode and reflecting back to him the backs of the other committee members, trailing out the door.

Yuta raises his hands in mock-surrender. "Who spit in your coffee today?" he jokes. Doyoung just glares at him. Yuta gives him a sheepish smile in defense. "I was asking, are you gonna go to Sicheng's birthday party?"

"Yeah," Doyoung says in his best attempt at nonchalance. He'd actually completely forgot, despite the little notifications Facebook kept sending him just when he was about to fall asleep. "Of course. Why?"

Yuta beams at him in between packing up his stuff. "Good." He slings his backpack over his shoulder. "I'll see you there," he tells Doyoung nicely enough, but there's something mischievous about his grin that Doyoung can't place.

And it's this: "Sicheng's gonna like my present better!" Yuta calls on his way out. The door to the conference room closes behind him, leaving Doyoung to stew in his frustration at the round table, alone. Fuck, he should've seen that one coming.

 

 

 

 

Doyoung bites into his toast bitterly. "I can't believe he dragged _Sicheng_ into this," he mutters to Johnny. It's Friday morning, the birthday party's in two days, and Doyoung spent an entire sleepless night deducing that Sicheng was probably the closest thing to a best friend in Doyoung's life right now.

Johnny leans over the countertop, head in his hands and probably nursing a horrible hangover. Doyoung tosses him some Advil. "I can't believe you guys are competing over his _birthday present._ " The bottle hits his shoulder and bounces off, rolling under the couch they found on the side of the road and dragged back to their apartment over the summer. "What are you gonna do, ask him to choose what he likes better and then make the loser eat their gift?"

Doyoung huffs. "We're not barbarians, Johnny." And then he takes his plate of toast back to his laptop and resumes prowling the pages of Amazon.

Even without Yuta's challenge, Sicheng deserved only the best for his birthday. In the dark, acrid pit that was 8AM Immunology, Sicheng was a shining beacon of light – he always saved Doyoung a seat in middle of the second row where the best view of the whiteboard was (even though he also always saved a seat for Yuta on his other side), poked Doyoung awake when he'd nodded off in the middle of Mr. Lee's lecture (if Yuta hadn't already reached behind Sicheng to pinch the stretchy skin of his neck), and had the PDFs of old tests that one of his Chinese friends had passed down to him ("Hey, what'd you get for this answer, Doyoung?" Yuta kept asking when the three of them studied at the library for the midterm. Doyoung eventually put on his noise-cancelling headphones to tune him out). Sicheng pulled his own weight for a sophomore in a class made up of mostly upperclassmen, even though he constantly let Yuta copy off his homework assignments.

"You know," Doyoung told Sicheng once when Yuta had gone to the bathroom. He reached across the table for Sicheng's hand. "You can always tell him no."

Sicheng looked down at Doyoung's hand covering his own, confused. "What do you mean?"

The tell-tale squeak of Yuta's old Superstars coming down the hallway interjected before Doyoung could continue. "Just," he said, removing his hand from Sicheng's and wiping it against his jeans under the table. It'd been drier than he imagined. "I hope you know I'm here to help."

Doyoung shows up on Sunday with his gift bag, feeling pretty confident. He runs into Yuta as he passes through the kitchen looking for Sicheng and curses under his breath when he hears him call out his name.

"Hey, Doyoung!" Yuta says a little slurred. There's already a decent amount of tally marks on the inner part of his forearm, growing more squiggly and far apart as they get closer to his wrist. "What're you holding – Oh shit."

Doyoung rolls his eyes, unsurprised. "Obviously I win," he frowns. "Again." There's something heavy weighing down against his ribcage, and it, for some reason, feels akin to disappointment. He spots Sicheng talking to Ten through the crush of bodies. "Next time you challenge me, maybe actually, I don't know. _Follow through._ "

Sicheng looks at the lotion quizzically when he takes it out of the bag. "For your dry hands," Doyoung explains. Even in the dim lighting of the party, he can still see the dead skin flaking off of them.

Ten, who Doyoung completely forgot was there, waggles his eyebrows. "There are other uses for lotion too, y'know," he says. He mimes the motion with his hand and Sicheng laughs.

Doyoung feels his face flush in frustration. He can't believe Ten's trying to turn his innocent, well-meaning gift into some innuendo, like he did every time Doyoung tried to first get to know him in the four months they'd been roommates. And right before he can start to tell him off, Yuta knocks into him, drunk off his ass, and all but throws himself at Sicheng.

"I'm sorryyyyyy," he whines into Sicheng's shirt while Sicheng the person tries to claw him away. "I ordered your gift yesterday and it's not gonna be here until next week." Yuta finally peels himself off Sicheng. "But I'm going to follow through," he turns around and meets Doyoung's gaze straight on. In the dark, it almost looks like he's making bedroom eyes at him. "Because I owe it to you."

Fuck. Doyoung really, truly _hates_ –

"You know literally no one else got me anything?" Sicheng says. Yuta doesn't even blink.

God, Doyoung's not drunk enough for this.

 

 

 

 

Yuta finds him in the kitchen an hour later, downing another shot of tequila. "Hey," he says in the same tone of _I'm sorry_ , stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Doyoung glances at him. Yuta takes a step closer and then another before finally coming into focus. "Hey yourself," he grits back before sucking on a lime slice.

"Look, I'm – " Doyoung cuts him off with a look that says _please don't._ Yuta presses his lips together and watches as Doyoung pours two shots, missing the second glass the first time. "I didn't think you'd take it so seriously."

Doyoung scoffs. "What'd you think was gonna happen, Yuta?" he slurs. "That I'm just gonna say yes every time you challenge me?"

"Doyoung – "

"Look," Doyoung says, holding up a hand to stop him. "I don't wanna talk about this." He picks up the shots and offers one to Yuta. "I wanna get drunk." He prods Yuta with a finger against his nicely-muscled chest. "Are you gonna drink with me?"

Yuta sighs. Doyoung doesn't hear it through the heavy bass of whatever shit playlist Taeyong's put on, claiming it's the best, but feels his alcohol-tinged exhale against his right cheek. And then he takes the cup from Doyoung's hand, their fingers brushing for a brief moment, before offering him a small smile and tipping it back.

An indiscernible amount of alcohol later, and Yuta's back on his bullshit. "I challenge you, Doyoung Kim," he laughs, using the arm with the tally marks on it to push Doyoung's shoulder. "To drink more than me!"

Doyoung really doesn't think anything's funny, but he can't stop giggling. "What the fuck," he mumbles. "Do you want me to get alcohol poisoning? I've already had twenty shots."

Yuta pretends to mull it over. "No," he admits. "I need you to save my seat in Immuno." He wipes a hand over his face and then squints at the lines on his arm. "I've had twenty-one."

Doyoung knees him in the side from where they're sitting on the kitchen floor. "Well, I've had twenty-two," he says, stubborn.

"Twenty-three," Yuta grins.

"Twenty-four."

"Twenty- _five_."

"Twenty-six." Doyoung's still giggling.

"You know," Yuta breathes, shifting his weight against a different cabinet so he can face Doyoung better. "You're really hot when you get all competitive."

And Doyoung doesn't feel himself lean in, but suddenly Yuta's nose is a lot closer than he remembers it being. It's a good nose, high bridge but not pointy, and it compliments his good teeth and good lips that Doyoung's spent the last four years of his life utterly hating for reasons his alcohol-addled mind can't even remember. "Am I?" he laughs right up against Yuta's mouth. There's touch but no pressure.

Yuta chases his lips when Doyoung moves back to sit on his knees. And that's all Doyoung needs before he slots their mouths together, hands reaching to clutch at the nape of Yuta's neck, Yuta wrapping his arms around Doyoung's sides to pull him closer and closer until he's straddling his hips.

Yuta's mouth is wet and warm against his own. It's good – it's _really_ good – and Yuta's always been good at making Doyoung's heart beat fast, always been good at riling him up, always been good at –

Doyoung pulls away first. There's suddenly something very unfunny about this that he can't quite grasp. "You okay?" Yuta asks, tracing circles with his thumb into Doyoung's hip bones.

"Yeah," Doyoung says. He scoots backwards out of Yuta's lap. "I – I think I'm gonna go home."

"Oh." Yuta doesn't smile. "Okay."

Doyoung doesn't remember a lot after that but what he does remember is: getting home, falling into his bed after taking off his shoes, and wondering why he suddenly feels so alone.

 

 

 

 

He tells Johnny about it. Because, of course he tells Johnny about it.

“I don't get it,” Johnny says through a mouthful of cornflakes. Doyoung, who woke up with a hangover so bad that it felt like a four-by-four ran over his brain, forgot to tell him that they were out of soy milk before Johnny blindly poured whatever milky-looking substance into his cereal. Johnny is also lactose intolerant. “So you made out with him and you liked it, and then you just left him in Ten's kitchen?”

“I've been such a jackass to him for all these years!” Doyoung groans. “Do you know how weird it is sucking faces with someone you've always said you hated only to find out _surprise!_ you like sucking faces with them?”

Johnny does this funny thing with his neck. “Doyoung, this is such a non-issue. You're a jackass to everyone. Are you gonna be celibate your whole life, then?”

Doyoung glares at him. “I am _not_ a jackass to everyone,” he insists. Johnny gives him a look. “Okay, I'm a jackass to…ninety percent of everyone.”

“You know,” Johnny sighs, sounding a bit exasperated. “I think you're just scared. ‘Cuz it's like, you've always had control over how you felt about Yuta when you said you hated him, but now that he kissed you, you don't.”

Doyoung can listen to Johnny call him a lot of things. What Doyoung cannot listen to Johnny call him is a coward, running away with his tail between his legs from Yuta Nakamoto, no less. “ _I'm_ not scared!” he yells. “ _I'm_ not the one losing to Yuta. And _I'm_ not the one started all these dick-measuring competitions willy-nilly just to see who _actually_ has the bigger dick – ” Pause. “Wait, fuck. Yuta actually wants to see my dick.”

Johnny drinks all the milk in his bowl. “That's what I've been telling you this entire time,” he says before slamming it into the sink. “God, Doyoung.”

 

 

 

 

He finds Yuta at the soccer field. Because according to Sorn, who Doyoung texted when no one else had any idea where he'd be other than his apartment, apparently Yuta plays intramural soccer and Doyoung knows even less about him than he'd initially thought.

“Yuta!” he calls, jogging over. He's uncomfortably out of breath by the time he stops. “I found you.”

Yuta traps the ball under his foot. The field lights are so harsh that they create a halo out of his flyaways. “I guess you did,” he says. He shoots Doyoung a cautious, tight-lipped smile.

Doyoung takes a few moments to breathe. God forbid he fuck this all up by panting out his words. “I,” he starts. “I.”

Yuta laughs a little when he sees him struggling. “Look, let's just forget about what happened,” he shrugs. “We were both drunk, it's not like – ”

“No!” Doyoung interrupts. Yuta looks up from where he'd been talking to the sweat stain on his jersey. “I mean, I didn't come here to talk about that. I.” He clears his throat. There's kicked-up bits of the AstroTurf in his shoes, pricking his feet as he takes a step forward. “I came here because our challenge's not over yet.”

“Oh?” The dawn of a genuine smile rises on Yuta's mouth, beginning to show his very even and white teeth. “And what challenge was that?” There's a shit-eating grin on his face now.

Doyoung feels his face flush. “God, I hate you, Yuta Nakamoto,” he mutters before pulling him by his shirt and pressing Yuta's laugh against his mouth.

And, Doyoung has to admit, it's pretty goddamn great.


End file.
